Hold 'Em: Vegas Top Guns, Book 3 (12 page)

He didn’t pull away, even when she again hit the firm swells of his ass, five on each cheek. The force of those strikes reverberated up her biceps, through her shoulders, feeding something wild held within her. Letting it loose.

“Do you like that?” She gripped each globe of his ass and squeezed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he gasped. His control was coming loose at the edges. Unraveling. She was picking it apart, strand by strand.

“And you still want to come?”

His shudder ate at her soul—beautiful in everything he was holding back. For
her
.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She could learn to love those words. So quickly. She was halfway there already. “Be good through these next strokes and maybe I’ll feel like rewarding you.”

The muscle at the back of his jaw ticked, right under his ear. But he didn’t say a word.

She clutched the cool leather handle of the slapper. The edges bit into her palm because she held it so tightly, like holding on to herself. She had to make it good—for both of them, yes, but mostly for him. Wiggling back on her knees, she found the room she needed to swing.

Leah cracked the black leather strap against his ass.

The sound was a thing of beauty, filling her ears and her bones with satisfaction. But the way his muscles jumped before he could lock down again was even better. More fulfilling.

She kept the strokes light, almost soft. Mostly she listened to the musical sting of sound and his labored breathing. Red streaks still appeared across his skin. She could keep going forever.

Suddenly almost afraid of how far she could go, she dropped the slapper.

As soon as it clattered to the floor next to Mike’s thick calf, her body came back into play. Roared its arousal. Her pussy was dripping wet, her inner thighs trembling. Her breasts were swollen, begging to be touched. Begging for
his
touch.

The clasp holding his bindings together came undone with a single flick, but she left the restraints around his wrists, unwilling to give up that pretty picture.

Whipping her hair over her shoulder, she darted around him and laced her fingers through his leather restraints. “Come here,” she said, tugging him toward the bed.

The dazed look in his eyes set her off again. Thrust her even higher. She pulled him down over her, both of them landing together on the soft mattress. His massive cock pushed against her thigh as their legs tangled together.

She flattened her hands over the sides of his face then traced her fingernail across the fine line of his mouth. “Do you even know how perfect you look?”

He shook his head. Still dazed. Still a little gone, even as he hovered over her, locked on his forearms. “You, ma’am. You’re gorgeous.”

“You even say perfect things. It’s almost too much.”

She brushed a kiss over the inside of his wrist, right below the warm leather. After groping for a condom, she unfurled it over his hard cock. A tiny laugh burbled up from her body. “This is what I want. You, fucking me. Hard. Rough. The way we should have years ago.”

His eyes went the deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea. “Yes, ma’am.”

She stroked his hair back from his temples. “I know you can make me happy. Because you like to make me happy, right, pet?”

His prick dipped to slide over her wet pussy. “So much.”

“Good boy.”

She hooked her ankles high over his ass. Knowing she dug her heels into the red marks she’d left there made her crazy. Awesomesauce, dripping-wet
crazy
. She wasn’t going to last long.

“Now,” she ordered.

He plunged into her in one long, rough push. His thick cock filled her perfectly, opening up the last dark spaces in her soul. He fucked her deep. Hard. Like everything she’d wanted for so long.

God, she’d been right. She was going to fly over in no time. Sharp swells of pleasure made her legs quiver. Made her hands tremble as she scored his pecs. She ground her head into the mattress, almost but not quite frightened of how good it was.
Perfect.
Because all the while, he levered himself over her, wearing an expression of focus like a mask. He was resisting his own needs. Seeking her pleasure first.

Spreading her feet wide, Leah dug her toes into the comforter. Her hands slipped around his back so she could grab his ass. He clenched with every stroke, shook on every withdrawal. So good. So right.

The explosion started in her cunt. Sharp pulses of pleasure nearly verged on pain. White sparks blew behind her lids, but she forced her eyes open.

“Come now,” she gasped. Her lungs were still seizing on her climax, but he’d earned his release. “Come for me, Michael.”

He needed only a few more strokes. He bit his lip, fucking her. God, really
fucking
her. He folded over and pushed his face against the curve of her neck. His body jerked once, twice, and their hips slammed together in a press that was close to too much, but so right at the same time.

Because it felt like Leah had found herself, just by giving him permission to let go.

Chapter Fourteen

Mike parked his bike next to Leah’s, between the hangar and the headquarters. He had more first-day jitters than he would’ve expected, but that hot pink Ducati was part of the reason. He was schoolboy eager, and not for his first briefing as an Aggressor.

A fucking sweet Aston Martin pulled in across the aisle and braked hard. Out popped a lean, dark-haired man wearing a flight suit that matched Mike’s.

He shoved thoughts of Leah away. He still had a job to do, and apparently this man was a colleague.

“Morning,” he called.

“Hey, yo. You the new guy?”

“Seems that way.”

“Then let me be the first to greet you in anticipation of a good week’s worth of hazing.” He extended a hand. “I’m Tin Tin. Captain Jon Carlisle.”

Ah, so this was the moneybags playboy Leah had mentioned. The two were close, which made the back of Mike’s neck prickle. But he shook hands and offered his name in return.

Carlisle arched an eyebrow. “Strap Happy, eh? Maybe I’ll stop complaining about Tin Tin.”

“I wouldn’t. It’s a shitty call sign.”

“They all are,” the younger man said with a chuckle. “C’mon. Briefing room’s this way. I hope Fang got laid last night because my head is not up for one of his piss fests.”

The austere briefing room was filled with roughly twenty pilots, all suited for flight, all blinking over takeaway cups of coffee under the fluorescent glare. Mike exhaled with a proud sort of relief. This was where he belonged. Among his fellow fliers.

The downtime had been nice, but his overflow of adrenaline demanded that he take to the skies. Soon, and among the people who loved it as much as he did. Whether he flew over enemy territory or flew
as
the enemy didn’t really bother him. Not that morning.

Sitting next to Tin Tin, he casually searched for a particular brunette. But Mike’s body wasn’t at all casual. His muscles locked against a memory from late Sunday evening. He’d stood in the shower with his hands looped around the nozzle overhead. No restraints other than his own will as water coursed down his body.

Leah had leaned against the opposite wall, just out of reach, fingering herself until her eyelids snapped wide. She’d spent the next twenty minutes rewarding him for his control. The best goddamn blow job he could remember.

Then again, he was having a hard time recalling anything before their weekend together.

Tin Tin played the smirking, ungracious host as he introduced Mike to the rest of the squadron. A few names were familiar. He greeted two particular men with firm handshakes and broad smiles. Liam “Dash” Christiansen and Eric “Kisser” Donaghue had both served alongside Mike over Iraq. It always did his soul good to see friends back on home soil, and he was relieved to know his stint in Las Vegas would mean familiar company.

The sexual buzz in his blood dipped back to the shadows, and he was grateful.

Not that it lasted long.

The briefing room’s door opened. Major Haverty strode in, clipboard in hand, and Leah followed close behind. She held her wrists loosely behind her back, with her hair wrenched into that regulation bun.

At Caesar’s, he’d asked her to leave her hair down. She’d honored him. That’s where it had started.

Now they both had work to do.

Mike had learned years earlier that his intimate life was more private than most. Other guys could talk shit about their weekends, but he’d found it easier just to let a joker’s smile be his answer. What he needed was too intimate to share, even for hinted half-truths. He’d honed that reflex of privacy until he was almost two separate people.

Seeing Leah in the briefing room was a challenge to that control, but there was no room for error for either of them. Too much depended on discretion.

“Morning, bandits,” Major Haverty said. “Hope your weekend resulted in no trips to the hospital for stomach pumps or the removal of foreign bodies. Klingon, I’m looking at you.”

Another pilot held up his hands. “Seriously, it was an accident.”

Dash Christiansen flashed one of his trademark shark-toothed grins. “That’s not what your sister said.”

“And that sweet thang wouldn’t lie.” Eric smirked. “Said I was her best and her only.”

“The only one she petitioned for a restraining order,” Klingon shot back.

Flanked by Dash and Tin Tin, Mike sat back with a contented smile. This interplay said a lot about the men he’d be flying with.

Only that wasn’t exactly right. One woman other than Leah sat in the briefing room too, call sign Brunch. Even as he wondered at the story behind that one, Mike’s reflexive unease wormed under his skin. He flew with women. A fact of modern life in the Air Force.

It never got easier to stomach.

Fang cleared his throat. A serious expression shuttered over his smirk. “Enough chitchat, ladies and gents. We have work to do. Our next red flag is scheduled for two weeks, against a contingent of NATO pilots. That means location-centric Aggressor tactics: a smattering of good old Mother Russia, potentially hostile Eastern European countries, North Africans and a concentration on Middle Eastern forces.”

“Damn, I love the Ruskies,” Tin Tin said under his breath. “We have so much data on how they fly, I swear I could build a Russian pilot out of pop cans and gum.”

Mike only nodded. He’d flown hundreds of sorties over two enemy nations, but the subtleties of the styles Fang mentioned didn’t register as anything beyond theory.

As if looking for a touchstone, he flicked his gaze back to Leah. She was all servicewoman now. Face forward. Posture loose but attentive. The fact she stood at the front of the room with the major only reinforced her place in the squadron—one of importance and influence.

Had they been in the bedroom, that would’ve done gut-crazy things to Mike. In a briefing room, however, it just rankled. She’d not only excelled at all of her early ambitions, she’d zipped right on past him.

Haverty consulted his clipboard. “So, assignments. Group one, Middle East, led by Tin Tin.”

“Hell yeah.”

For such a cool character, the younger man gave away a great deal about his love for the job. Mike could almost relate, although a slim wedge of envy spiked between his ribs when he thought about the history Tin Tin shared with Leah. He’d been there with her, for the most recent part of it, as she transformed into a strong woman and a toughened officer.

“Group two, standard NATO alpha pattern, led by me,” said Haverty. “Hard deck of ten thousand feet. We’ll switch it up after an early lunch, then debriefing at fifteen hundred hours. If you’re good, you’ll be out of here in time to get hammered before supper.”

Murmurs of acknowledgment met standard bouts of grousing.

Haverty set his clipboard on the room’s lone desk and leaned against it, arms crossed. “And I’m sure you’ve all met the newest addition to our dysfunctional family. Captain Templeton comes to us from Shaw after four tours over Iraq and the ’Stans. He even has a Silver Star to prove it.” Then the major grinned. “But don’t let that stop you from being your usual obnoxious selves. I expect a detailed report on the origins of his call sign by quittin’ time.”

Mike only shrugged. “A guy has to fend off the boredom, Major Haverty, sir.”

“Beat it off, you mean,” Dash said with a smirk.

“But all jokes aside,” Haverty continued, “Strap Happy is off rotation until he crawls his way out of the simulator. Princess here will give him hell until he can keep up with y’all.”

The nonchalance Mike struggled to maintain wasn’t easy in the face of so many racing images. Him crawling. Leah giving him hell. Not only was his assignment going to test him in ways that didn’t appeal, he’d have to do it with Princess Hardass riding him the whole time.

He was damn glad he’d left his cock ring at home. It was friendly fire waiting to happen.

“All right, bandits,” the major said, clapping his hands once. “Good hunting and be safe. Strap? Up here, please.”

Mike shook hands with Dash and Eric, bidding them good hunting, before working his way to the front of the briefing room. Leah hadn’t moved, but her posture locked almost imperceptibly. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. The emotion there was clear to see, even though it scraped at Mike’s bones. She actually looked worried.